


The Undead English Patient

by redeem147



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeem147/pseuds/redeem147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike gets attacked by a demon.  A gross demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undead English Patient

“Date?” Spike asked. “As in Archie and Betty at the malt shop?”

 

“Date,” replied Buffy. “As in finding out if there’s really anything between us. Besides sex, I mean.”

 

“Oh.” Spike considered her proposition. “So no sex, then.”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes, and stood up from the stone cemetery bench. “I should have known…”

 

He caught her hand and pulled her back down. “Not so fast. It was your idea. I say yes.” He stroked her upper arm with the tips of his fingers. “What about kissin’, then?”

 

She allowed herself to smile. “I guess kissing would be okay.” She started to raise her lips to his, then stopped. “But no tongues.”

 

“Oh, Slayer, you’re killin’ me,” he sighed, as he caught her lips with his.

 

Too long apart, they were so distracted by each other that they didn’t notice the hulking creature approach until it was nearly too late. The loud gurgling sound finally caught Buffy’s attention, and she pushed away from the vampire. Using the bench as a vaulting horse, she jumped up and over the other side of the demon. “Ugh, Spike, what is this thing?”

 

“Damned if I know,” he cried, “but it’s disgustin’, innit?” He saw the creature turn towards his love. “Buffy!” he cried, hurling himself at the gooey beast.

 

She watched in horror as he was engulfed by its viscous slimy body. “Spike!”

 

He must have found a sensitive spot at its core, for suddenly the creature burst apart into a million drops of mucous. Buffy turned away, avoiding the bits heading towards her face. “Now that,” Spike stated, dripping with gelatinous ooze, “is an experience I’d rather not repeat.”

 

“Do you think it’s dead?” she asked.

 

“Oh,” he replied. “I’d guess that’s a safe assumption. D’you mind if we go to the crypt to pick up some clean clothes? Then I wouldn’t mind a trip to your hot shower. This is really…not pleasant.”

 

“Sure.” She looked at his sticky arms. “As long as you don’t mind if we don’t hold hands on the way.”

 

 

He walked out of the bathroom, steam escaping from within. He had tied one fluffy white towel around his waist, and was using the smaller one to rub his hair dry. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hair gel lying around, would you, pet?” he asked, dropping his hair towel over his shoulders.

 

“Not really, no. Not a hair gel family. Besides,” she fluffed his hair with her fingers, “I like the curls better. Sexy.”

 

“Really,” he smiled. “Sexy, eh?” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “You don’t think, maybe a little sex wouldn’t hurt? Just to see if we still like it?”

 

She melted into his palm. “Be good. Or at least don’t tempt me not to be.” Her smile waned. “Your hand is warm.”

 

“Just had a shower, love.”

 

“No,” she said, feeling his forehead. “You’re warm. You shouldn’t be this warm, just from the shower. I mean, you never were before.”

 

He sneezed, pinching his nose with his fingers. “Bloody hell, what was that? I haven’t done that in about 140 years.” He felt his throat. “And it hurts when I swallow. Ow. And when I talk.”

 

“Then stop talking.” Concerned, she scrutinized his face. “Your eyes are red. They look sore.”

 

He rubbed at them. “They’re itchy. Buffy, what the hell’s going on? Oh God.” He leaned against the wall. “I feel dizzy.”

 

“Come on.” She led him into her bedroom, and laid him on her bed, tucking him under the sheets and comforter. “Get some rest. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

 

“Buffy,” he croaked. “Would it ruin my manly image if I told you I’m just a little scared?”

 

 

Willow booted up her laptop. “Can you describe it?”

 

“Ugh.” Buffy made a face. “It was green and sort of purply, and very bumpy. It didn’t really have a head, just all ran together. No legs either. But it moved pretty fast. I think it might have had an eye. At least, I think it was an eye. It just sort of…oozed over Spike. One minute he was outside, the next he was gone. But I could see him faintly inside. Then “swoosh, goosh” and the thing flew apart and he was standing there, drippy.”

 

“Buffy, that is absolutely gross.” She accessed her demon database. “And Spike didn’t know what it was?”

 

“No clue. He’d never seen one before.” Her lower lip quivered. “Will, what if he’s really, really sick? What if he’s…dying?”

 

Willow hopped up and threw her arms around her friend. “Don’t worry Buffy. We’ll find out what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it. You’ve been through enough already. You won’t lose him.”

 

“I’m just realizing how much I…how much I…” She cried into her best friend’s shoulder.

 

Willow patted her back. “I know.” She let go and sat back down at the kitchen table. “So let’s find out what this oogly boogly is.”

 

 

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like hell.” Spike lay against the white pillowcase, his face almost as pale as the fabric. “I think I’m going to die. Again.”

 

“Don’t say that!”

 

“Listen to me, Buffy.” He coughed. “There’s a strong box in the sarcophagus. If something happens to me I want you to have what’s inside.”

 

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine.”

 

“I’ve been around long enough to know what’s fine. This isn’t fine.” He rubbed his hand under his nose. “What’s this? I’m leaking.”

 

“It’s okay. Your nose is running.” She took a box of tissues from her dresser and handed him one. “Blow.”

 

“What, blow my nose with this? This is paper. Don’t you have a proper handkerchief?” His question was cut short by another cough.

 

“That’s healthier. The germs get thrown away, instead of carried in your pocket.”

 

“I don’t have germs. And I don’t have a pocket.” He pulled back the sheets to reveal his bare chest. “And I’m getting right chilly.” He groaned. “Make it stop. I hate this.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant to…I’ll be right back.” She ran out the door.

 

 

When she came back he was sweating. She didn’t think he could sweat, though then again he could cry. She’s seen him do that often enough. She ran her hand over his forehead. Cold and clammy. He didn’t say anything, just looked up at her and groaned. “Put these on,” she said to him. “You’ll be more comfortable. Now, they were mom’s, but they’re blue, so don’t complain.” She helped him into the silk pajamas. He didn’t make any suggestive comments. It frightened her. She helped him back under the sheets and lay beside him, holding him, feeling him drift off to sleep. “My poor William,” she whispered.

 

 

Dawn followed her sister up the stairs. “Do we have to?” she asked.

 

Buffy tried to balance the television set. She was strong enough to carry it, but the size made it awkward. “Spike wants to watch TV. He doesn’t like to miss his shows.”

 

“Neither do I,” her sister complained. “And why do I have to bring the VCR?”

 

“Well, it’s no bloody good to us without the TV. He might as well have it.” She paused at the top of the stairs, getting a better grip on the set to carry it into the hallway.

 

“When did you start saying bloody?” Dawn followed Buffy into the bedroom. Spike was sitting propped up on pillows.

 

“Thanks, pet,” he croaked. “There’s a new X-Files tonight.”

 

“I didn’t know you watched that,” Buffy said, placing the television on the spot cleared for the purpose. She fed the power cord down the back of the dresser and plugged it in.

 

“Never know when you’ll see someone you know.” He started another coughing fit. Buffy ran to him with a glass of water. He sipped at it, and the cough abated. “Thanks, love,” he whispered. “D’you think you could get me some juice?”

 

“Orange juice?”

 

He swallowed with obvious pain. “Blood orange?”

 

“We don’t have any blood oranges…Oh.” She turned to her sister. “Hook up the VCR for him while I’m downstairs, okay?”

 

“Sure, why not. But the next time I’m sick, I get the TV in my room too.” She went to work connecting the cables. ‘Course, I wouldn’t get this much attention,’ she thought to herself. ‘I’m not her boyfriend.’ “Hey, Spike,” she asked. “Want to watch ‘Bring it On’?”

 

“God, no,” he moaned.

 

“Good. I’ll go get Army of Darkness.”

 

 

Buffy ran up the stairs for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, cup of hot chicken soup in her hand. ‘He’s wearing me out,’ she thought to herself. ‘Must be love.’ She stopped dead in her tracks. “Wow,” she said out loud.

 

 

She watched him sleeping. ‘Like a little boy,’ she thought. The look of pure innocence on his face belied the killer she’d known him to be. He could be a pig. He had the unfortunate habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, especially during intimate moments. The leer he often sported still made her want to punch him. But he was beautiful. He loved her. She was terrified of losing him.

 

Quietly she closed the door to her room behind her. Willow was waiting for her in the hallway. “Buffy, come downstairs. I think I’ve found the demon.”

 

 

Willow turned the computer screen so Buffy could see it. “Is that your…whatever it is?”

 

“That’s it. That’s the thing that made him sick. Is there an antidote?”

 

“Ick. No, not ick the antidote. Just ick. That’s one ugly oogly. Let’s see what it says.” She scrolled down the text. “Hm, doesn’t attack humans. No interest at all. It eats demons. Poisons them and digests them.”

 

“Poisons?” Suddenly, Buffy felt very small.

 

“Demons,” Willow replied. “Not vampires. Vampires are like a human/demon hybrid. This thing will attack a vampire, but it can’t digest the human body. Hence the explosive action.”

 

“So, what’s wrong with Spike? Why is he…dying?”

 

Willow read farther down the screen. “He isn’t, Buffy. On vampires, the poison duplicates an uncomfortable but not serious case of influenza.” She looked up at her friend. “Spike has the flu.” Buffy threw her arms around Willow’s neck. “Watch with the breathing, Buffy. Flu can be bad, but it can’t hurt Spike. Not really. He should be fine in a few days.”

 

 

Buffy carried a bowl of lime sherbet into the bedroom and handed it to Spike. “What’s this, love?” he asked.

 

“Something for your sore throat.” She picked up the scattered assortment of used tissues from the bed and dropped them in the plastic bag she had left for the purpose. “I asked you to put these in the bag,” she said.

 

“Sorry, pet. Got distracted, what with the dying and all.” He put a heaping spoonful of the sherbet into his mouth.

 

“I’ve got news for you, ‘pet’. You’re not dying. You have the flu. Well, the vampire flu, but it’s almost the same thing.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Oh. Well, good news, then.” He started to climb out of bed. “Still feeling right sluggish, but I’ll be glad to move down to the couch for a spell. I’ve put you out long enough.”

 

“Where do you think you’re going, mister? Get back in that bed.” She started to laugh, her voice clear and free. “The flu. You’ll be fine.”

 

“Buffy?”

 

She stripped off her clothes and climbed in beside him. “I think I’ve earned my reward. Quality time with the guy I love.”

 

“Oh, Buffy.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Slayer, did you just sneeze?”


End file.
